Return to Terror
by Lizabeth S. Tucker
Summary: A secret kept can mean Judge Hardcastle's safety, but will it lead to Mark's own death?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Originally published in _Four Aces Beat a Full House #2 _in October 1988._

Return to Terror

By Lizabeth S. Tucker

1.

"I don't know about this, Hardcase. Maybe we should forget about the whole thing." Mark McCormick paced the den, holding a file folder and shaking his head. "It could get ugly…not to mention dangerous."

"It's not dangerous. You know the truth, don't you?" Judge Hardcastle continued typing in the required information on the admittance forms.

"Well, sure. But who's gonna believe me? Judge, don't do this." McCormick paused before the desk, pleading his case. "This isn't like our other cases. This…this is scary. They use drugs and shock treatments and God knows what else in that hospital. What if something goes wrong? What if you're discovered? I can't back you up if I'm stuck here." The ex-con resumed his nervous pacing.

Hardcastle smiled with uncharacteristic patience and explained…again. "People are disappearing in there and there doesn't seem to be any way of controlling the flow of stolen drugs out of the place. Johnson was in my court because of drug sales before and got off with a slap on the wrist from the medical board because there was no conviction. We have to stop him from being able to practice medicine of any kind. And this is the best way to catch him in the act. Besides, you're always complaining about being the target; here I am drawing the fire and you're still not satisfied." Hardcastle relented, softening his tone. "Don't worry, I'll be wired. Everything will work out okay. Just don't tell anyone where I am, or what I'm doing. There's a leak in the department already. We don't want them to know any more than they already know. Carlton has been inside for almost three weeks, posing as an aide. There's a nurse helping us, too." Hardcastle gathered the forms and stood. "No more arguments. It's settled." He started for the door.

"I thought this was a partnership," McCormick grumbled, picking up the overnight bag and heading to the truck. "Give and take, push and shove. More like a dictatorship, if you ask me."

H&McC

They drove to the hospital in silence. Hardcastle was mentally reviewing the situation at the mental hospital while McCormick became more and more concerned about the Judge's backup – or the lack thereof – and cover story. Carlton was okay, but deep down he hated to see someone else doing his job.

A few hours of steady driving brought them within view of the Ashton Institution. Once a home for unwed mothers, it had been converted to house and care for the mentally ill and physically handicapped. Pulling into the long driveway, they saw well-kept gardens surrounding the white, mansion-like building. The atmosphere was peaceful and comforting, yet McCormick hated it on first sight.

Helping the Judge unload his luggage from the GMC, he roughly shrugged off help from the aide who was outside to greet arrivals.

"Nasty, aren't we?" commented a familiar voice.

"Carlton?" McCormick stared at the lieutenant. The white uniform made quite a difference. The undercover police officer would be Hardcastle's only protection. Mark hoped it would be enough.

"Ben. That's what I'm called here," Carlton corrected quietly. Taking a suitcase, he winked at both. "So, putting your old man away, huh?" He shook his head for effect. "Such ingratitude – after all the selfless years he devoted to you."

Hardcastle winced. "If you don't mind, 'Ben', the name's Milton Henderson. Not 'old man'.

The byplay didn't even get a smile from Mark. Carlton motioned toward him. "What's with McCormick, Milt?"

"He thinks we're way off base with this one."

"I agree with him. It's shaky, but it's all we have. The department won't get involved, says there are too many other cases to handle as it is – cases with solid evidence." At McCormick's look, Carlton added reassuringly, "Hey, don't worry. I'll keep an eye on him. I'm an old hand at this stuff." He turned his attention to the Judge. "Got the mikes with you?"

"Yeah, got some real sophisticated gadgets from a guy who owed me a favor. McCormick has the receiver in the Coyote. And this is the other one." He handed a white wrapped package to the black officer.

McCormick kicked at the GMC's front tire. "Since you don't seem to need me, I guess I'll head on back to Gull's-Way. Got some real important mowing to do." He walked around the truck to the driver's side. Getting in, he glanced at Carlton. "Take care."

Carlton got the message. "You can count on it. If we need any help, I'll ring you."

"Go on, kid, get out of here. And when you finish the lawn, get on those gutters – they look like hell." Hardcastle waved him on, his attention on the assignment ahead of him.

McCormick snorted, driving off with squealing tires and a spray of gravel. As they watched the brake lights of the truck disappear in the distance, Carlton admonished the Judge. "Give the kid a break, Milt. He's just worried about you."

Stalking toward the front door, Hardcastle replied gruffly, "He's afraid of missing something, that what he's worried about."


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"Mr. McCormick?" The sallow-looking man at the door inquired.

Mark stood in the hallway dressed in cutoffs and a mesh football shirt. He had a two-day growth of beard and reddened eyes from long days and nights of surveillance at the Ashton Institution, done witout either the Judge's or Carlton's knowledge. "Yeah?"

"I have an appointment with Judge Hardcastle. Is he in?"

"Uh…no." He hesitated and the man interrupted with quick suspicion.

"Do you know where he can be reached?"

"Sorry, the Judge is…out of town…a vacation," he added, caught off-guard by the unexpected visitor. Damn it, Hardcastle hadn't said anything about any appointments.

"Oh? He didn't call to cancel the meeting. Where did he go? If it's someplace local, I can call him and reschedule for tomorrow."

McCormick was beginning to feel trapped. "He flew to…Seattle. It was an emergency. He didn't have time to contact anyone. I don't know when he'll be back, but if you'll leave your name, I'll be sure to let him know that you dropped by."

"Never mind. I'll get back with him later. Thanks anyway." The man stared at the door as it closed, then turned and went back to his car. Driving out of the estate, he noticed the overgrown grass, the leaves floating in the pool, and the trash cans nearly hidden by additional green plastic bags, all obvious signs of neglect. And one thing Milton Hardcastle never did was neglect Gull's-Way. He wasn't sure what was going on, and decided to let the police check on it.

H&McC

"Hiya, Pops," McCormick's voice was less than respectful as he approached an elderly man sitting in an oversized lawn chair, wrapped in a flannel sheet.

Hardcastle's eyes narrowed at the sight of his visitor. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Aww, come on, Pops. You're still not sore at me for stayin' out late after the prom, are you?" He pulled up a chair and sat next to the Judge. In a lower voice, he replied, "I was wondering how things are. I don't hear very much over the receiver."

Hardcastle looked around before answering. "They don't approve of jewelry in this place. Unless it's a Medical Alert bracelet or chain." Leaning over, he yanked McCormick's sunglasses off his face, "you look terrible. What've you been doing, partying every night?"

Mark grabbed the glasses back. "Yeah, Fun City. You had a visitor today. He said he had an appointment with you. Thought you should know. Are there any more surprise visits planned that I should know about?"

"Oh. That was Frank Thompson. That could mean trouble. He was checking up on how your parole was going. He showed up a week early – 'surprise' visit, probably, catch everybody unawares."

"Well, he did that."

"Did you tell him where I was?"

"Nope. Told him you were called out of town unexpectedly."

"Good, that should hold him until we're finished here. Under no circumstances tell him where I am or what I'm doing, understand?" Hardcastle instructed. "Word is Thompson will do anything for money. It could mean he's gonna be fishing for why I'm gone."

"Don't worry, he seemed to buy the story. Said he'd contact you later."

"Fine. There shouldn't be any other visitors. None that are expected anyway."

McCormick nodded, staring off at the main building. They sat quietly for some time before Hardcastle broke the silence. "Is there anything else, kiddo?"

"Nah, just thought I'd pay my old dad a visit here at the Funny Farm."

"Clean the gutters yet?"

"No, I haven't cleaned the damn gutters yet. I hate that. No house should have so many gutters. It's…immoral." McCormick raised defensive hands when he saw Hardcastle getting ready to yell. "Okay, okay, don't start. I'll go home, be a good little boy and clean the damn gutters. Satisfied?"

Hardcastle smiled, nodded. "See ya later, hotshot."


	3. Chapter 3

3.

The doorbell rang on the main house while McCormick dragged lengths of hose from the garage, preparing to start on the gutters. He walked around the house and saw that Thompson had returned. He also had company: two uniformed police officers and another man who was obviously a plain clothes detective.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" His sudden approach startled the officers into grabbing for their guns.

"Mr. McCormick, I've returned to get the truth. Where is Judge Hardcastle?" Thompson motioned the cops to reholster their weapons.

"I told you, he's out of town for a while."

"Flew to Seattle, I believe you said."

"That's right. Got a problem with that?" The coils of the hose were heavy and he shifted his weight. When he glanced back at the four men, the detective had a Smith & Wesson .38 leveled at him.

The plainclothes cop smiled coldly. "No Hardcastle has taken a flight out of Los Angeles to Seattle, or anywhere else, for oever a week. Want to tell us where the body is?"

McCormick froze, his mind the only thing running.

"Well, McCormick? Save us all some time and trouble."

"You…you think I've killed Hardcase and dumped the body somewhere?" The shocked surprise became contempt. "And then I coolly stay around the estate until somebody puts the pieces together? Do I look that stupid, to hang around after murdering somebody? Waiting for the cops to come get me? Judge Hardcastle is out of town. That's all I can tell you." He gripped the heavy coils tightly, shifting his weight slightly.

"You're real dumb, McCormick, and that's gonna get you put back inside, for a lot longer than two-to-five. We don't even have to have a trial for the murder. You have enough parole violations stacked up to pull your ticket. It's only because of Hardcastle that you've been able to stay out this long. Put the hose down and put your hands behind your head."

With lightning reflexes, McCormick swung the hose at the men. The coils looped around them, staggering them with the weight and momentum. He ran for the Coyote parked a short distance away, jumped into the driver's seat, and peeled out of the driveway. The cops were two steps behind him.

The Coyote roared down the Pacific Coast Highway with the three police cars trailing behind him. McCormick swerved in and out of the afternoon traffic, trying to think of some way to elude the police cars. He couldn't lead them to the institution, but he definitely needed either Carlton or the Judge to keep him out of jail. If he could shake the cops, he would have a chance to contact them and find out what he could do. There was no way in hell that he was ever going back to prison.

H&McC

"Saw you had a visitor, Milt," Carlton/Ben walked Hardcastle back to his room.

"Yeah. The kid was worried about me," Hardcastle said, sounding surprised.

"He likes you. And considering this place, I don't blame him for being worried. Did he have anything to say?"

"A visit from Thompson, that's all. I told him not to worry, and to clean the gutters."

"That's a running feud between the two of you, isn't it? Did he tell Thompson anything?"

"No, he's not dumb. Gave Thompson some scam about me being out of town." Hardcastle sat down on the hospital bed, looking at the blandly decorated room. "Has this done any good yet?"

"Yeah, Johnson was in residence yesterday, saw us walking on the grounds. He got white as a sheet, Milt. He definitely recognized you, just like you wanted. He's spooked. Now all we gotta do is wait for him to make a move. Do you want me to call Mark and have him stationed outside in case Johnson decides to bolt?"

"No, not yet. Johnson is the hit and run type. Let's wait until he hits."

Carlton laughed. "You just don't want to give McCormick an excuse to put off cleaning the place again. You don't fool me."

"Where will you be?" Hardcastle ignored the remark, except for a slight smile.

"Right here. I'm off duty in about thirty minutes. I'll come back here in case Johnson decides to have you taken care of."

"Good. We can play a few hands of poker. Maybe we should call McCormick, he'd make an easy third hand. I want to get back my fifty dollars from the game we had last week."

"Uh-huh, tell me about it. He's got thirty of my money. And Keen was really pissed at losing over sixty dollars to him. Called the kid a shark, among other things."

"Yeah, well, Keen's a jackass. You gonna play the game, ya gotta be prepared to lose."

H&McC

"I love this, McCormick. I really love this." Sergeant William Keen leaned over McCormick's slumped figure sprawled in the chair in interrogation.

"You only caught me because of the kids at the school bus." He fingered a darkening bruise under his right eye, wincing. "And don't you guys know police brutality is a crime?"

"You resisted arrest. My men only used the force needed to subdue you."

"Yeah, sure…" His lower lip was swollen, but had stopped bleeding. His glare wasn't, under the circumstances, very assertive. "Did you call Carlton's office like I asked?"

"I did. But Lt. Carlton is on an undercover assignment and won't be available to bail you out. Besides, do you think he'll help you after you murdered Judge Hardcastle in cold blood?"

McCormick rose halfway before Keen pushed him back into the chair. "I told you, the Judge is alive and well! I can't tell you where he is right now, but Carlton can vouch for me. Just wait a little longer." He knew Carlton's shift hours and the lieutenant always checked in with the office when he was off duty at the hospital. Carlton's shift ended ten minutes ago. He should be calling in soon – if nothing went wrong.

"No way, scum. I tried to tell Hardcastle last week, when we were playing cards, that you were no good, that he trusted you too much. But he was fooled by your fast talk and pat routine. You're going back inside for good. And I'm sure some of the other 'residents' will be pleased to see you, considering the people you've helped put there while with the Judge."

McCormick paled, realizing there was nothing he could do to stop it, short of revealing where the Judge was. He was cornered, and there was no getting past Keen. Should he give the scam up, or wait it out and hope Carlton called in soon?

"One more change, McCormick. Where's the body?"

Mark shook his head. "All I can tell you is that Hardcastle is alive."

"Prove it."

There was no response. Keen motioned to the waiting uniforms. "Get him on the next bus to San Quentin."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Yes, I know the writing is a little trite and hokey, but understand that this was a pretty early story in my writing. I also didn't have the advantage of Melinda Reynolds as my editor, so some things made it through that shouldn't have. _

4.

Carlton and Hardcastle hid in the darkened room, waiting. There was a human-shaped figure in the bed, made up of blankets and pillows. The two men were standing near the front door, the nightlight switched off. They had been waiting for nearly two hours, but there had been no sign of either Johnson or accomplices.

Dawn was beginning to break over the gardens and Carlton was preparing to go home, saying he would have McCormick take over the guard duty for the day. He was reaching for the light switch when footsteps halted him. Both of them flattened against the wall as the door slowly, silently, cracked open.

"Hardcastle? Are you awake?" Hearing no answer, the door opened wider. Johnson slipped into the room, a hypodermic in one hand.

He crept to the bed and jammed the hypo into the sleeping figure. He whirled around, startled, when the lights were thrown on. Dropping the needle, he swung on the Judge. A quick right cross from Hardcastle sent Johnson across the bed. When the crooked doctor tried to get back up, he found Carlton's service revolver staring him in the face.

"It's over, Johnson. You're under arrest for the attempted murder of Judge Hardcastle. I would suggest that you think about making a deal with the D.A., or you'll be inside for a long time." Carlton watched Hardcastle dialing the phone. "Who are you calling, Milt?"

"McCormick. I'll have him pick me up." The Judge waited, listening to the ringing. "Must be up on the roof. Or outside somewhere."

"Look, when the uniforms show up and get this guy, I'll run you home."

"Okay." Hardcastle replaced the receiver.

H&McC

"Welcome back, McCormick. Didn't think we'd be seeing you quite so soon." The warden greeted a disheveled Mark McCormick as he got off the shuttle bus.

"Neither did I."

"What? No smart remark? No excuses? Of course, you've changed m.o.'s since the last time you were here. Murder didn't used to be your thing." Getting no answer, the warden motioned to the guard. "Take him to C Level."

This jolted McCormick out of his despondency. "That's the row with all the hard-timers, the rapists and killers! You can't put me there!"

"You're a murderer. Where else would we put you, McCormick?"

"I didn't murder anyone! Somebody's got to believe me! Please, let me call L.A., Lieutenant Kelly Carlton can explain everything. He'll clear me."

"You've had all the chances to talk with the cops that you're gonna get. Get him outta here. And, McCormick, I'd watch my back if I were you."

McCormick continued his protests, but the guards knew how to handle recalcitrant prisoners, rapping him on the back of the knees with their clubs until he quieted down and went peacefully with them. He tried to reason with the guards, pleaded with them to take him to a phone or to pass a message along, but they merely stared straight ahead, ignoring him. As they walked down the corridor on C Level, the other cons called out to McCormick, yelling obscenities and threats for finking to the Law.

A large hand suddenly shot between the bars, grabbing McCormick's shirt. "You won't be leaving this time, Mac. You should have run after wasting the Judge. We're gonna take real good care of you here." The quietly spoken threat was more intimidating than any of the yells and catcalls.

McCormick pulled away, quickening his pace. "Look, I didn't sell out. Honest."

The comments continued as he continued walking.

"Skid, you were never honest a day in your life."

"Yeah, we don't know why you finally decided to off the Judge, but you were helping him before that."

"I was just playing along. You guys know, the old con game."

"You forgot who your friends were, Skid. You forgot where you came from."

The guards stopped before a cell, unlocked it, and shoved McCormick inside. There were two others in the small cell with him. One of them was well-known to Mark, the main man on C Level and not a good person to mess with. The other was a guy about five years younger than himself, with the face of a choirboy and the eyes of a killer. McCormick slumped against the wall, an overwhelming sense of hopelessness washing over him. He could have endured anything, anything but this. As the door clanged shut, he lurched toward the bars, yelling at the departing guards. "Wait! Hardcastle is alive, I can prove it! Call him at the Ashton Institution, near San Diego!" Given a choice, he preferred facing a wrathful Judge than vengeful inmates.

"Too late, Skid," one of the guards called back. "Your fast talk didn't fool the L.A. cops and it's not gonna work here, either. Welcome home."


	5. Chapter 5

5.

"Milt, don't jump down the boy's throat as soon as you get home." Carlton shook his head. "Listen to me, now you've got me calling him a kid. He's a grown man and should be treated like one."

Hardcastle snorted. "He acts like a child most of the time."

"Maybe that's because you treat him like one. Maybe deep down, that's what you want – an irresponsible child, someone who needs you to watch out for them."

"That's ridiculous! McCormick behaved irresponsibly before we met, he didn't need any help or encouragement from me. I can't change what I think of him, or how I treat him now."

Carlton glanced across the seat. "What do you think of him, Milt? I mean, sometimes I think you hate the very idea of him, and other times I wonder if you wouldn't miss him if you left."

Hardcastle was spared the necessity of a reply by the scene that greeted him at the estate. Bulldozers were digging up the front lawn. Men with picks and shovels were probing the gardens around the main house. Carlton brought the car to an abrupt halt next to a small group of men.

"What the hell...?!" Hardcastle jumped out of the car, grabbing one of the workers.

"Hey, old man, you'd better get out of here. This is a crime scene." The heavy-set man pried his arm loose from the Judge's grip.

"What is all this? Tell those idiots to stop digging up my yard!"

"Your yard? Oh, you must be one of the family. Well, sir, seems a guy was killed here, and his body buried somewhere on the grounds. At least, the cops are figuring the murderer buried the body here."

"Killed..?" Hardcastle felt suddenly deflated of anger and all feeling. "McCormick was killed?"

"Yeah, that's the name of the murderer. You knew him, huh? Seems a shame, that Judge tryin' to help the crook out, givin' him a place to live and all, and then the guy turns on him and wastes him like that. Just can't tell what people'll do nowadays." The man started to walk off, but Carlton stopped him.

"I'm Lieutenant Carlton of the L.A.P.D. Could you explain what you mean – did you say McCormick killed someone?"

"Jeez, Lieutenant, don't you read your office bulletins or nothing? Okay, a guy by the name of McCormick killed this guy he was living with. I think the fellow's name was Hardcastle. He's a former judge or something like that."

"Nobody's killed me! I'm right here!"

"You're Hardcastle? Boy, that's really something – somebody must've really screwed up somewhere. It's a good thing you showed up. We were just about to start on the house. My boss is over there." He pointed to a tall man holding a clipboard and hard hat, talking to the caterpillar operator. "Tell him who you are and he'll stop digging." As the Judge stomped off, the worker shook his head. "Geez, the guy's alive all along. That's kinda a shame, ya know?"

"What do you mean?" Carlton asked.

"Well, I heard some of the uniforms talking about this McCormick guy. He's been shipped to San Quentin. Some of them were saying he probably wouldn't survive until they could come up with enough evidence to try him for murder. Said some hotshot cop had hung some sort of coat on him. Didn't really get what that meant, but it sounded important."

Carlton grabbed the guy by the shoulders. "A coat? You mean a jacket? You heard them say that he had a jacket hung on him?"

"Yeah, that's it. Hey, let go, willya? I've gotta get back to my Cat."

"Milt!" Carlton ran across the lawn to where Hardcastle was still speaking to the foreman. "We've got trouble!"

H&McC

"I'm alive! McCormick didn't kill anyone, and I want him out of San Quentin now!!" The Judge leaned into Keen's face, his temper beyond the boiling point.

The sergeant smiled nervously. "We're working on it, Judge. But there's red tape…paperwork to be done, approved, signed…" He trailed off, flinching under Hardcastle's glare.

"I don't give a damn about paperwork. Every minute that boy is inside means more danger for him, thanks to some of your overly eager friends and their desire for revenge."

"Now, Judge, they were just trying to avenge your murder."

"Yeah? We'll talk about that later. I'm heading to Quentin now. I expect McCormick to be waiting for me when I arrive. Understand?"

Keen nodded vigorously. "Right, no problem." The officer watched as Hardcastle left the room. Forgetting that Carlton was still present, he spoke aloud. "Oh, Christ, none of us will be drawing a pension, just time."

The lieutenant stared down on the stricken officer. "What did you expect him to do, thank you? You were out of line, Keen. When McCormick said to contact me, you should have waited until you could. At the very least, you could have kept him in a holding cell until I could be contacted. For your sake, you'd better pray that McCormick is in one piece when Milt gets there."

H&McC

"Mark, I believe you. I've know you long enough to tell when you're scamming me. The big problem is, the rest of the population won't. The guards have been spreading the word on you." Stefan 'Sludge' Carlonii replied after hearing McCormick's side of the story.

"Yeah, I know. But all I have to do is get word to the Judge or Carlton. I have to be careful about it, though. I don't wanna blow their cover." McCormick leaned against the far wall, dreading the next step. Carlonii's willingness to help him was the first major step. Now came the matter of payment. "I hate to ask this, but I need your protection and the use of one of your people on the outside."

"Well now, Skid, that's gonna cost you plenty."

"Hardcase is rolling in dough. A couple of thousand don't mean nothin' to him." McCormick hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. "He'll pay you, then I'll pay him. See how it all works."

"Uh huh." Carlonii rose, stretching slowly before speaking. "And if this Judge doesn't come back, if he's killed or injured at that hospital, you won't have the source to get what I want. Maybe he'll just decide you ain't worth it. Then what? Are you willing to put your life on the line for this help?" Sludge Carlonii, mass-murderer and rapist, faced McCormick squarely, his scarred face only inches away.

Keeping his voice and gaze steady, Mark nodded slowly. "My life is on the line whether I agree or not. I really don't have much of a choice, do I?" At Carlonii's lack of response, he edged away from the towering hulk. "You sure don't have much to say, do you?"

Carlonii shrugged. "Details can be worked out later. Just as long as you know what's expected. I get paid, either drugs, money, or ass. Got it?"

McCormick sank down on the cot across from the silent, baby-faced killer. He indicated the fourth empty bunk, wanting desperately to change the subject. "Who's our fourth roomie?"

"Nobody yet. The last guy met an unfortunate demise."

McCormick froze, unable to look away from the killer's chilling grin. Knowing that he couldn't show too much fear, he forced himself to ask, "Any reason, or was he just wearing the wrong aftershave?"

"He didn't want to accommodate Sludge and my interests."

"You remember them, don't ya, Skid?" Carlonii asked.

McCormick remembered, he just didn't want to be reminded. "Uh, Sludge, you know I don't go that way. You'll have your money, in cash, even if I have to sell my car."

"Now the method of payment is more or less up to me, ain't it? Maybe I don't want money…" He leaned down, gently slapping McCormick's face. "If your Judge doesn't show up to bail you out, your ass is mine, any way I want it. If you want to survive this place, you'll play along. And this time, there ain't nobody around to save you. Just me."


	6. Chapter 6

6.

"The name's Hardcastle. Milton C. Hardcastle. I'm here to pick up Mark McCormick who was incorrectly sent back here yesterday. Lieutenant Carlton should have called you."

The guard stared at Hardcastle as if he had seen a ghost. "But…but, you're dead!"

"Not yet. Now take me to see Warden Evans."

"Uh, yeah, okay. Let me call him." The guard fled into the small office and picked up the phone. Making certain he was out of earshot, he spoke urgently into the receiver. "Let me talk to Jackson, right away!"

Hardcastle shifted uncomfortably as the other guards stared at him. It was getting annoying, but he couldn't think of anything to do about it. After two phone calls, the guard finally came out of the glassed-in office and told the Judge to proceed to the Warden's office.

"Thank you." Hardcastle swept through the gates as the guard buzzed them open. He looked around, the drabness of the place depressing. As he got closer to the Warden's office, the grayish brown changed to a soft blue. It was quite a contrast to the rest of the building. Knocking briefly on the outer door, Hardcastle let himself inside.

"Judge Hardcastle? Warden Evans is expecting you, sir. Go right in." The secretary glanced up from her typing, nodding towards the heavy oak door.

With a curt nod, the Judge strode into the office, closing the door firmly behind him. He didn't bother with preamble. "Warden, you have a friend of mine sent here by mistake. I've come to get him out. His name is Mark McCormick."

"Didn't you send him up here the first time, Milt?" Warden Evans seemed in no hurry to comply.

"Yes, look, couldn't you just send for him while we chit-chat later? I have reason to believe he could be in considerable danger."

"Sure, sure, just a minute." The warden spoke into the intercom. "Kathy, bring in the file on McCormick, Mark. That's 'M-c', not 'Mac'. Thanks." A nerve-straining five minutes went by before the secretary entered with the file. The warden skimmed through it. "Let's see, number 332695." He glanced up at her. "Have him brought to my office immediately."

H&McC

"McCormick, you're wanted in the Warden's office." Two guards stood on either side of the cell door, hands resting on their guns.

Mark jumped up from the cot. "Hardcastle must be here. Well, thanks, Sludge, but I guess I won't be needing your help after all." He breathed a silent sigh of relief, quickly grabbing his prison-issue jacket. "Let's go, guys. I'm ready to blow this joint!"

The guards escorted McCormick past cells full of silent inmates. The ex-con started to look behind him, wondering why he was suddenly not worth talking to. When the guards turned, not towards the offices, but toward the rear entrance to the prison, he stopped.

"Hey, what's going on? I thought you said the Warden wanted to see me. You think it's a good idea to keep him waitin'?" McCormick surveyed the parking area, noticing large groups of guards and certain trustees standing nearby.

"Somebody got you out, and we decided that you don't deserve your freedom. You're gonna be another unfortunate victim of prison violence." The senior guard replied, shoving McCormick back into the crowd of men with his nightstick.

"Look, fellas, I didn't kill Hardcase. In fact, that's probably him in the Warden's office now." McCormick protested as he was shoved from one man to another, the guards forming a circle around him.

"we don't give a damn about that judge. But we don't like smart mouth crooks who set up other guards. I'm sure you remember that little incident at Clarksville State Prison, don't you?"

"Uh, look, I'm really sorry about that, but – " McCormick started to explain, only to have the blow that began the beating hit him square in the mouth, cutting off any further comment.

The men were professionals and the beating was expert, the maximum pain with the minimum of injury…at first. When McCormick reached the level where nothing hurt any longer, the pounding became more intense. The blows falling on his chest and sides were meant to injure, to maim. Blood ran down his face, into eyes almost swollen shut. McCormick's feeble resistance became defensive. He covered his head and absorbed what he could of the blows and prayed for an end to it…any kind of end.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

Hardcastle paced the office, checking his watch constantly. "How long does it take your men to get one prisoner?"

Evans shrugged. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since the order had been given. Pressing the intercom buzzer, Evans asked his secretary if she had passed his order on.

"Yes, Warden, of course. Is there a problem?"

"No, I'll take care of it. Come on, Milt, let's go get him ourselves."

The two men walked onto the main prison floor, cons calling out greetings and curses to both of them. The warden walked up to the guard on the Level C concourse. "Harry, where was the McCormick being held?"

"Right up there, Warden. With Sludge Carlonii and his new squeeze." The red-haired guard pointed to the second floor.

Hardcastle led the way up the stairs, his feeling of unease growing stronger each passing minute. He strode to the doorway of the cell, peering inside for the ex-con. "He's not in there, Evans." Hardcastle turned to the warden, glaring at him.

"Of course not, the guards picked him up about ten or fifteen minutes ago," Carlonii said.

"To go where?" Hardcastle asked.

"To Warden Evans' office, Judge. I assume you're Hardcastle?" When the Judge nodded, Sludge smiled. "You must be some piece of work, Hardcase. The kid thinks a lot of you. Enough so as to keep your secrets and risk coming back here."

"Yeah, well…" Hardcastle replied, embarrassed by the observation. "He didn't make it to the office, so where the hell is he?"

"I think I might know, Judge. Follow me." Carlonii led Hardcastle and Warden Evans through the prison and to the rear section of the prison, his cellmate bringing up the rear.

They pushed through the swinging doors of the laundry room, Hardcastle striding side-by-side with Carlonii. As they walked out into the loading area, someone whistled shrilly, and the four men could hear the sounds of feet running off. Hardcastle broke into a run, coming to a halt when he rounded the corner of the driveway. He saw a guard bending over a bloody body, wielding a nightstick, too enraged to have heard the signal. Hardcastle yelled, startling the man into looking up, straight into the waiting knife of Sludge's cellmate.

"Ah'd suggest that y'all back up, frien'," he breathed, the deep Southern drawl holding menacing anger.

"Jackson! Drop your weapon! Now!" Evans ordered the guard. Carlonii and Hardcastle went to the body moaning softly on the concrete between the attacker and the convict.

"McCormick?" Hardcastle tried to wipe the blood off the ex-con's face, his hand shaking slightly. "Sludge? Get an ambulance." He took McCormick's hand in his.

The large killer took off at a run, alarmed at the sight of the damage inflicted on McCormick. Evans held the guard with the man's own .38, while the Southerner moved to McCormick's side.

The usually taciturn convict smiled reassuringly at Hardcastle as he visually checked McCormick's unconscious body. "Don't you worry now, Judge. I usta be a medic during Nam. Ah'll jus' look him over right quick."

Hardcastle sat back on his heels, uncomfortable but unwilling to break contact. He felt a slight movement in his hand. "He's conscious."

"Not yet, but he will be soon. Looks pretty good, but he could still have internal injuries. I'd like to turn him over and check him out, but I think that'll wait." The accent lessened as the convict attended to the injured man. "Name's Logan, Judge. You sent me up about four years ago."

Hardcastle looked closely at the youthful face. "You look vaguely familiar, but I'm afraid I can't place you."

"I'd be surprised if ya did. I had short hair that was dyed black and a beard to confuse the State's witnesses. Since coming here, it's back to the natural color and I shaved off the beard."

"What are you in for?"

"Twenty to life. Oh, the charge? First degree murder, two counts. I killed my ever-lovin' wife and her boyfriend, remember?"

"Yeah, I do. Pretty gruesome case, as I recall. Stabbed your wife about three hundred times with a machete, didn't you?"

Logan shrugged, lapsing back into silence.

Carlonii reappeared, kneeling beside McCormick. "Help's on the way, Judge. How is he, Logan?" Sludge ran his hand gently over McCormick's thigh as he spoke, hardly aware of his own actions.

Hardcastle pulled back, conscious of the possessive attitude of the convict. Was it possible that he and McCormick had been – The Judge shook his head, reprimanding himself in annoyance.

"Looks good, but I'm not sure about the head wounds. Hope it ain't 'cause of being beaten against this concrete."

Carlonii glanced over at the warden anxiously in the background. "Warden, why don't you take Jackson to Sgt. Haskell. You can trust him to keep the man confined and alive. I wouldn't give him to anybody else if you expect to keep him for questioning."

Warden Evans nodded, glad to have something to do. He started off to find Haskell, prodding the sullen Jackson ahead of him with the .38. As he approached the building, another of the senior guards came outside. Evans, intent on his prisoner, didn't look up as the man slugged him. The warden slumped to the ground and the man grabbed the gun, handing it to Jackson.

Hardcastle started to rise, but the two .38's trained on him stopped the movement. He eased back down, watching Carlonii and Logan and their reactions.

"Bennings, this is stupid. You know who this guy is? Hardcase, that's who. What do you and Jackson plan to do now?"

"Sludge, what we do is none of your business. I don't plan to spend any time on this side of the bars, no way. If killing a judge and three convicts is what it takes to stay free, then that's what I'll do." He motioned with his gun, signaling Jackson to cover him. "Get over there against the wall, Judge. You and Sludge pull Mccormick over with you, Logan."

Hardcastle stood. "Leave the kid alone. You've already done enough. He can't hurt you."

"Awww, isn't that sweet?" Bennings said, walking closer to McCormick. "He's concerned about this scumbag. Bastard's lower than a dog." Bennings aimed a wild kick at McCormick's middle. Just as the toe of the heavy boot reached Mark's ribcage, it was grabbed and pulled. Bennings fell backward, off-balance. Logan swung on the watching Jackson, splattering the man's nose into pulp with a karate chop.

Hardcastle pulled Bennings to his feet. A roundhouse right sent the guard staggering towards Carlonii, who slung the man up and round, slamming him into a metal post. McCormick propped himself up carefully on one elbow, his right eye swollen shut and the left one barely a crack in his face. "Sludge…don't kill the guy! We need him…to tell us the names…of the others."

Hardcastle went over to McCormick, preventing him from getting up. "Are you okay?"

"Sore all over, but I don't think it's too bad. Damn it…can't hardly see…"

Logan clamped Jackson's arm behind his back, wandered back over to the Judge and the ailing McCormick. "Any soreness or sharp pains in your sides?"

McCormick took a deep breath, then grimaced. "Yeah, on my right side. Hurts when I breathe in."

"Okay, don't get up, bubba. I think I can hear ambulance sirens at the front gate."

"What's wrong?" Hardcastle asked.

"Probably a broken rib or two. Hey, after all, he was hit quite a few times by experts. Bound to have something broke, right?" Logan slammed the guard to the ground, next to Bennings. "I'll go check on the warden. Just sit there quiet-like, Skid, until the paramedics can look you over."


	8. Chapter 8

8.

"It was the guards, not the inmates?" Warden Evans, sporting a black eye, sat behind his oak desk, questioning McCormick.

"There were a couple of trustees there, but, yeah, it was mostly guards." McCormick's face was nearly concealed by tape and gauze. Stitches ran even with his left eyebrow, the doctor assuring him there wouldn't be a noticeable scar. His right arm was in a sling and thick bandages were wrapped around his chest and midsection. Hardcastle hovered nearby without seeming to, lending McCormick aid when needed and wisely refraining when aid wasn't necessary.

"We'd like to identify them, but frankly, I doubt if anything will be done about them – except for a few suspensions and transfers. Kyle Jackson and Frank Bennings will be fired, but as for any charges… Well, it's your word against theirs, and I don't have to tell you whose will be believed, do I?"

Hardcastle exploded. "He's almost killed and all the men responsible will get is a suspension?! That's a pile of sh--!"

"Judge! Calm down. I'm only an ex-con, nobody will believe me," McCormick interrupted.

"I believe you," Hardcastle protested.

Mark smiled. "I know. And I think the warden does, too. But all a prison review board will see is another ex-con with a grudge. It's a fact of prison life, Hardcase, live with it. I did. For two years I was nothing. And once a con, always a con." McCormick fixed Hardcastle with an unreadable look. "Wonderful, isn't it?"

"That's bull, and you know it." The Judge waved a hand towards the window overlooking the main yard. "You were here and now you're out. Hopefully having learned something. You won't make the same mistake of doing anything that would send you back here, willya?"

"No, sir, not if I can help it. That still doesn't change the facts though. Aww, Hardcase, don't get excited about it. It doesn't bother me, not really. 'Cause you see, those guys are marked now. If anything comes up about them again, it'll be believed, and they'll be charged for certain. No sweat."

"That's a fine attitude, Mr. McCormick, a fine attitude. We'll be calling you for the hearings, probably later in the week." Evans rose, shook hands, and escorted them out of the office.

As they walked down the hallway, the Judge gazed at his companion. McCormick looked back uneasily. "What's wrong, Judge?"

"I don't know, kid. I don't think the doctors were right about your injuries. I think you got a bad knock on the head, because what I heard in there wasn't the Mark McCormick I know." He snorted. "'A fine attitude'? Christ! Nearly burst out laughin' right then and there. If you'd been any more servile you'd've been polishing the guy's shoes."

"Aww, Judge…"

"Don't 'aww, Judge' me. What are you up to, McCormick?" Hardcastle stopped at the gate to the outside, grabbin McCormick by the right shoulder.

"Nothing. Really!" Mark slipped loose, walking through the gates as the guard buzzed them open.

Sludge Carlonii was standing in the waiting room and signaled McCormick over to him.

"Wait here, Judge. I have to speak with him for a minute." McCormick's face was set, eyes evasive.

Hardcastle watched as the two men spoke quietly, then Mark nodded reluctantly. Carlonii started an embrace, but McCormick's stiff posture stopped him. Contenting himself with a hearty handshake, Sludge called out to the Judge as McCormick rejoined him. "Take care of my boy, Hardcastle. I want him in one piece when I get out on parole, got that?"

Hardcastle noted McCormick's tight lipped silence and paused, turning toward Carlonii. "You won't ever make parole, not if I have anything to say about it. You're in here for life, Carlonii. I appreciate the help earlier, but that's where it ends. Understand?"

"Sure, Judge, I understand. And I see that you do, too."

McCormick rushed outside, nearly running to the GMC's passenger side and climbing in. He didn't speak the entire trip back to the estate, staring out the window at the passing traffic and scenery without seeing any of it.

As they stopped in front of the Gatehouse, Hardcastle could contain himself no longer. "McCormick, did you make a deal with Sludge Carlonii?"

"I don't know what you mean," McCormick muttered in reply, reaching for the door handle.

Hardcastle caught his arm. "Answer me."

For long seconds the only sound was the quietly idling motor of the GMC. The interior of the cab was dimly lit with a greenish glow from the dash, the outside darkness a welcoming refuge. Then the tenseness drained away. McCormick slumped back against the seat. "What does it matter if I did or didn't?"

"It matters to you, enough to make you go all cold and distant on me. Look, I'm not gonna sit here and pretend I know what it was like for you in there, but I think maybe I have a pretty good idea – "

"No! No, you haven't any idea what it was like!" There was more bitterness in McCormick's voice than anger. "All you had to do was sit in judgment and pass sentence. You didn't have to live through it, and you don't have to live with it. You want an answer, Hardcastle? How's this? I did what I had to do to survive. Because prison is survival and the guards aren't there to protect inmates, but to keep them from getting out. There's only three ways to survive in prison: you buy your life with drugs, money, or sex. And there are very, very few exceptions." McCormick swung the truck door open, slammed it as he headed for the Gatehouse.

Hardcastle followed him inside, found him sitting on the couch in the semi-darkness of the living room. Only the light on the lower landing glowed faintly, and the Judge didn't bother with the other lights. He simply sat down in the chair opposite the couch.

"You didn't answer my question about Carlonii."

"What about him?"

"What were you talking about in the waiting room?"

"He said he'd take care of the guys who worked me over. That's all."

"And what did you say to that?"

"I asked him not to. Okay?"

"Okay. What was your deal with him?" Hardcastle wasn't really sure why he was being so persistent on that subject, but he felt he had to know. "I know you don't do drugs, and you sure as hell haven't any money…" The question was left unspoken.

"Judge, I don't need this. I mean, if I say 'no', you won't believe me. And if I say 'yes', there isn't anything you can do about it, so why bother? Does any of it make me any less a person?"

Hardcastle watched the ex-con settle back wearily into the deep cushions, rubbing a hand over his face and wincing at the pain in his side. McCormick never talked about his time in prison, with the exception of a sarcastic comment here and there, but he held a deep terror of ever returning. Hardcastle felt it was important that he knew the cause of that terror. "McCormick, were you and Carlonii…I mean, did you and he ever…well, you know…" It was becoming more difficult than he thought.

There was almost a smile. "No, Hardcase, we didn't 'you know', willingly or unwillingly."

"Someone else then? Or gang rape? I know that happens a lot."

The younger man shrugged slightly. "A few attempts, but I was lucky. None of them were successful."

"How about the 'someone else'? Was there someone bigger, stronger, more important than Carlonii? Someone who took you as a lover?"

"No!" McCormick knew his response came too quick, but it was true. Well, half true. He made an effort for calm, for indifference. "There was someone else who protected me then, but didn't want anything from me. If you can believe that. It was hard for me to believe at first. Stefan Carlonii was the number two man and he had me picked out the first day that I arrived at San Q. I was twenty-six, nice looking, and fresh meat…it was only a matter of time. But it never happened, and Carlonii never forgot me. When I was paroled, it was like I had been given a second chance at life. I knew I could never afford to go back to San Quentin."

"Why not? What happened to your protector?"

There was another heavy silence. When he did answer, there was a note of regret in Mark's voice. "He…killed himself. Last Christmas Eve."

"Oh."

"Right, oh. That left Carlonii as the main man. I had to deal with him, however he might want it. And if he ever makes parole, I'll have to pay up, again however he wants it. That's what he was reminding me about back in the waiting room. I had sought out his protection and help. I agreed to the terms, even after I asked him not to retaliate, he told me that the deal was still on as far as he was concerned. After all, he did keep his side of the bargain, even if it was different than I expected. So, if I ever get tossed back inside or he gets out, that's it."

It was Hardcastle's turn to sit back in silence, mulling over everything that McCormick had said. And he knew he couldn't guarantee that Carlonii wouldn't make parole. Parole boards could be irrationally unpredictable at times. That left one other avenue, but he had another question to be answered before he considered that route. "Tell me something, kiddo, now that I know why you're so terrified of going back inside, why the hell didn't you tell the cops where to find me? Could have saved yourself a lot of grief."

"I know. When they first took me in, I figured Carlton would check in pretty soon, clear things up and that I had a better chance of squeaking through than you did if I blew your cover. And I take it that things worked out okay at the hospital, seeing as you showed up at Quentin when you did." At Hardcastle's nod, he continued. "I admit, I wasn't so tough when they shut that cell door on me, but by then no one was listening to anything I said. Same old story."

"Hmmm. Tell me, would five grand buy off Carlonii?"

"Probably. But I don't have five grand."

"Well, I do. We'll just put it on account."

McCormick felt as if the weight of the world had just been taken off his shoulders. He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped or the smart remark. "On account of what?"

Hardcastle rose, stretched. "On account of it's 3 a.m., I'm tired, I wanna go to bed – without," he added, "taking your problems with me. But mainly 'cause I need the peace of mind."

He was out the door before McCormick could reply, tossing back a final, "Good night."

The End


End file.
